The New Roberts
by Crush All Illusions
Summary: The Dread Pirate Roberts begins training his replacement.  It's not going so well.
1. Chapter 1

**This is an old fic of mine that I am leaving up as an example of my earlier, and clumsier, attempts. For the newer fics I am working on at present, "Is Miss Isabella At Home?" and "Redemption", please see my profile page.**

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><p>Disclaimer: As I'm sure you'll all have guessed, I do not own The Princess Bride or any of its characters. All characters are the intellectual property of their creator.<p>

Also, this fanfic is based on the film version of events, and ignores the novel continuity, as well as the proposed sequel, _Buttercup's Baby_.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 – A Dispiriting Start.<strong>

"You'd make a wonderful Dread Pirate Roberts."

How casually Westley had spoken. And how stupidly. Inigo Montoya was a fine duellist, there was no question of that, and his honour and adherence to principle was a fine thing.

Nonetheless, in hindsight Westley was starting to get the feeling that perhaps Fezzik, or Prince Humperdinck, or even Buttercup, might have been a better choice.

He had lost five men of his crew in just over a month, and it looked odds-on that he would be losing another within minutes. Yes, he would be getting an all-new crew when he passed on the ship, it was true, but he had no desire to see them all killed by his future Captain before they could retire, particularly when he needed them to control the ship.

And whilst duelling was a fine enough sport, and excellent training, it did seem rather irrelevant in the middle of a storm at sea. Rain lashed the decks of the _Revenge_, and the waves grew noticeably higher even as Westley watched them.

"Have at you!" burst out Inigo exuberantly, flicking his beautiful sword to expertly parry his new opponent's thrust, then turning his defence into a sudden stab that forced the man back, slipping on the wet deck. A perfectly-executed slash from Inigo left an open gash in the unfortunate duellist's sword arm.

"First blood!" cried Westley, seizing the opportunity to end things before he ran out of crewmembers entirely, and before the ship capsized completely. "That will do!"

Inigo smirked and stepped back, sheathing his sword. First Mate Daniels could only stand there, oozing a trickle of blood from his arm that mingled with the rain that ran down it. "That hurts, you know."

Behind him, Westley heard Buttercup faint, and spun quickly to see Fezzik catch her gently. He was starting to wonder how sensible it had actually been to bring his adorable, but undeniably delicate, new wife on board.

Waves lashed still harder at the side of the ship, leaving the weaker members of his crew stumbling, and Westley took charge at once. "Drop sails! Turn the ship about and face us north, Helmsman, or we'll capsize under these waves!"

As the men ran for their posts, Inigo turned to Westley and grinned. "I win again! No man is a match for my steel." He lowered his voice and leaned closer. "So when do I get to be _Capitan_?"

Westley almost snarled: at this distance he could smell the rum on Inigo's breath. Inigo was always worse when he was drunk. He was still insisting on fighting left-handed, despite admitting in front of the crew that he was not left-handed in his second onboard duel. "When you prove yourself to know as much about running a ship as you do about fencing, Inigo – now get to your post!"

Inigo was not drunk, far from it, but he swayed gently in the gale-force winds. "What about Fezzik? _He's_ not at his post, and you're not scolding _him_."

It was true; Fezzik was even now shutting the door of the Captain's cabin behind him. Westley sighed in disbelief. "That is because he is seeing to Buttercup, do you understand?"

Inigo's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "And you're alright with that?"

Westley reddened; Inigo always saw the most salacious meaning possible. It must be the Spanish blood in him. "I mean that he is taking _care_ of her. _Tending_ to her, helping her wake up from her faint, do you see?"

Now it was Inigo's turn to blush, redness blooming across his scarred cheeks. "Oh." And he ran to his post, shaking the rain from his sodden hair, before Westley could scold him further.

Westley, the great Captain, the Dread Pirate Roberts, stood alone in the rain on his ship, and sighed.

All about the ship was mayhem: the crew were working like dervishes to drop the mainsail before the wind ripped it apart, or worse, capsized the ship by catching the sail itself. Inigo rushed breathlessly to his post, where three gunners were working to loosen a stubborn knot in the rope, so as to let down the yardarm of the mizzenmast.

"Here!" he yelled, drawing his sword. The men leapt back as Inigo's sword cut cleanly through the thick rope in one swing, biting into the wooden peg it had been tied to. The rope, now freed, shot upward, catching Inigo in the face on its way up.

"Ugh!" yelled Inigo, clenching his jaw in pain. His face felt on fire; he could feel a black eye starting already.

"Hey, are you alright?" asked Gunner Drev, looking concerned for his new shipmate. "Those ropes aren't as flimsy as they look, friend. A knotted rope as thick as your wrist can do an awful lot of damage. No broken bones, are there?"

Inigo reflected that the crew of the Dread Pirate Roberts were considerably kinder to their shipmates than their captives, and made a mental note to bear this in mind when he became, in his turn, the famed Pirate Captain himself.

"No," he said thickly, trying to sound more in control of his pain than he felt. "I think I'm alright."

The gunners relaxed. They had seen too many shipboard injuries to ever be complacent about them, but if a shipmate could say they were all right, then that was good enough for them.

"Right, then help us secure the brass monkey. If the cannonballs spill, they'll roll across the deck and one of them could break your leg."

Inigo took his hand from his sore face and ran after his fellow gunners as they began to fit a large brass cover over the stands that held piles of deadly iron cannonballs, reflecting that this 'captain-in-training' business was turning out to be a lot harder - and a lot more painful – than he had suspected.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

Buttercup opened her eyes and wished she hadn't. Unconsciousness was much more comfortable than the lurching reality of the storm the ship was in. Her head ached from the creaking of timber and the shouts of the crew, and the hammock she was lying in was swaying dizzyingly.

Fezzik's kindly face loomed fuzzily into view. "How are you feeling, lady?" he smiled. "Better for your nap?"

"How long was I out?" she asked wearily.

Fezzik smiled still further. "About a minute and a half, lady. But short sleeps can sometimes make long dreams."

"Yes, I'm feeling better now. Thank you, Fezzik." Buttercup was lying, in a way: her head continued to throb and she was wishing she could fall asleep again, but at least she could reassure Fezzik that his ministrations had been suitable.

Fezzik turned to the door. "Then I should help the crew. The ship is in danger and your lover will need my strength. Will you be alright here, lady?"

Buttercup nodded, and Fezzik opened the heavy oak door with characteristic ease, taking care to shut it gently as he left the cabin.

Buttercup smiled at Fezzik's thoughtfulness, and fell asleep again before she could think another thought.

"Am I in time to help, Cap'n?" asked Fezzik, coming out onto the deck.

The Dread Pirate Roberts, the Man In Black, the Captain of the ship, turned his sodden head to Fezzik briefly, and gestured to the men running, pulling and straining to secure the ship against the still-growing storm. The ship was beginning to lean alarmingly to port under the vicious winds, and men were falling on their faces as they ran thanks to the slippery deck. To their right, Inigo and three others were attempting to secure the cannonballs before they caused still more trouble, and high above them, the lookouts were desperately trying to lower the sails, which full of wind as they were, were almost capsizing the ship already.

"I think so," Westley replied, deceptively calm. "In fact, I think without your help, we will all be in the sea before five minutes have passed, and dead within ten."

"Then I'd better save the day, Cap'n Roberts," grinned Fezzik, and moving with surprising speed for one so big as he, he leapt to the aid of the gang of crewmen at the bow. Taking the tarry rope with which they were struggling in one of his gargantuan hands, he pulled the bowsprit round easily to turn the ship into the wind.

Slowly, as Fezzik pulled the bowsprit; and as the helmsman wrenched at the ship's wheel, the _Revenge_ turned about and began to steady itself. And as the sails dropped, from the efforts of the rest of the crew, the ship finally became stable once more, though the decks were treacherously slippery thanks to the rain, and the timber continued to creak under the lashing wind.

But at least they were safe.

That night, Buttercup still lay in her hammock in the cabin, but now she was wide awake, and wide-eyed, listening to her beloved Westley and his First Mate Daniels discussing strategy. Her hammock was still and comfortable in the calm that now followed the earlier storm.

"So, Cap'n," grinned First Mate Daniels, gesturing at the map that lay on the Captain's table with his left hand – his right arm tightly bandaged from the wound Inigo had given him that morning. "Where shall we be travelling fer our next bit o' plunder? Guilder, perhaps? Their merchant ships be rich in spoil during these early summer months."

Westley leaned across the rich mahogany table – a relic of a particularly successful raid he had been involved in under the last Dread Pirate Roberts. "True, Daniels," he growled, giving his voice all the menace and greed he could muster up. "But Guilder has a habit of protecting their merchant ships with Naval forces these days. With all the tension between Florin and Guilder right now, both their Navies will be at full strength, and we wouldn't want to take more chances than we have to, would we? No, I think the coasts of Florin and Guilder should both be left alone until they start getting on a little better, don't you think?"

The Captain's thinking impressed Daniels, though he was hardly surprised. Time and time again he had seen the legends of the Dread Pirate Roberts exceeded by the reality of the powerful and cunning man sat before him. They had taken plunder worth several fortunes from the hulls of the ships they had attacked, and the very reputation of the Dread Pirate Roberts had intimidated their quarries so much that, in over a hundred and fifty attacks, they had had to fight only three times.

And those three times, Captain Roberts had justified his terrifying reputation with astonishing victories, never so much as losing a man.

Buttercup sat up further in her hammock and smiled across at them both, her gaze was gentle to them both: shining with love toward Captain Roberts, and softening in pity as she took in Daniels' injury. Daniels tried not to notice her too much, but could not help but return her gaze – out of politeness to a lady, of course.

"Well, " tried Daniels, "Could we try here?" He gestured at the map blindly, just missing his intended target with his coarse, rope-marked finger.

"_Austria_?" asked Roberts in disbelief. "First Mate, are you entirely well? How exactly do you propose we attack the _coasts_ of _Austria_?"

Daniels could only blush. "Sorry, Captain, wasn't thinking straight there. I was meaning here." He gave the map his full attention now, gesturing to the island of Bornholm, to the East.

"Hmm… Bornholm?" commented Roberts thoughtfully. "Well, it's certainly an idea; the Swedish merchant ships almost all pass by that island sooner or later."

Daniels smiled with pride at his Captain's acknowledgement.

"But on the other hand," mused the Dread Pirate, "it might be wise to head as far from the Channel of Guilder as possible. Perhaps, if we were to head West, we could harry the Danish merchants while the Denmark Navy is divided between pirate-hunting in the Atlantic, and preparing for war on Spain. With such distractions, their merchants will naturally be less well guarded. And Danish spoil is some of the best, especially given their good relations with Guilder at the moment. What do you think?"

Buttercup could only smile wider; she loved hearing her beloved Westley's intelligence displayed so clearly.

Daniels, in his turn, could only glance admiringly at his Captain, and smile longingly at the thought of the Danish plunder that was already as good as theirs. "An excellent idea, Cap'n. I'll tell the Bosun to make ready the sails for the Danish coast in the morning."

Roberts still looked pensive. "What about supplies? Check with the Quartermaster first; if we need supplies then we might want to stop off at Trelleborg on the way, and perhaps later at Fehmarn."

"Aye, Cap'n. I'll check that out tonight and direct the course to the Bosun in the morning."

"Then goodnight, First Mate. Sleep well, and I'll see you in the morning."

Daniels left, his head filled with thoughts of his Captain's genius, and on the Captain's fetching new wife.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3.**

Silently, Inigo stepped from out of the shadows near the Captain's chest, and Westley smiled at him. "So, did you learn anything useful in that exchange?"

Inigo scowled. "I learned that I do not enjoy sneaking around like a common thief! I am a man of action, _Capitan_! How do you expect me to train as the new Dread Pirate Roberts without becoming involved in the tactics of the ship!"

Westley regarded him coldly. "And you don't think having a newly-recruited gunnery officer suddenly attending the Captain's private meetings with his First Mate would cause comment? Remember, Inigo Montoya, the crew all believe that I am the same Dread Pirate Roberts that has been sailing the seas these past twenty years. And the new crew that you command when you take on my title will have to believe it, too. Listening in on these conversations should teach you more than you expect, and without raising comment from the crew. But if you expect to enter into these discussions yourself, then you will have to wait until you are promoted high enough to warrant such discussions in the eyes of the crew."

"And why am I not promoted already? Surely you are the man with the power here? You could use my winning the duel with that First Mate as a reason to give me his position right away!"

Westley sighed impatiently. "Inigo, you need to have some understanding of the subtleties of command before I could even consider promoting you. Your skills with a sword alone are not enough to command a ship with! You must learn to have the brains, as well as the skill, of the Dread Pirate Roberts. Then I can begin to apprentice you to the role. Don't forget, I worked for three years on board this ship, starting out as a cabin boy. You're privileged indeed to be starting out on the gun deck!"

Buttercup spoke out gently from her hammock. "Be patient, Inigo: you'll be the Captain before you know it. And with the reputation Westley and his predecessors have built for you, you could be the richest pirate on the high seas in no time! And then I and my beloved Westley can retire, and live like a King and Queen wherever we choose." She smiled happily at the thought; her face lighting up in joy. Inigo felt his heart lighten at the very sight.

"Alright, _Capitan_," he grinned at Westley. "I waited twenty years to avenge my father's death; I can wait a few more to have your position."

"Excellent," commented Westley. "And in time, you'll be as fine a pirate as any on this ship." At that moment, he found, he really believed it; if Inigo could nurture his intellect as well as he had his sword technique over the next few years… Perhaps he could even outstrip Westley himself as the famed Pirate of the High Northern Seas.

Inigo beamed, and then leaned closer. "Just one question, _Capitan_?"

"Yes, Gunner Montoya?"

Inigo's face was a textbook example of puzzlement. "What's the problem with attacking the coasts of Austria?"

Westley's face dropped; he gestured to the map, still spread out upon the table. "Just look at the map, Inigo. I'll see you in the morning."

And as Westley turned to join Buttercup in the hammock, Inigo glanced briefly at the map. Seconds later, realisation dawned. He blushed, and hurried from the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4.**

"Sun above the yard-arm! All hands take first tap of the Admiral!" The Bosun's cry was perhaps the most welcome to be heard on board ship, announcing the day's first drink of rum to the crew. And on such a day as this, when the sun beat down torturously from a cloudless sky, it was all the more welcome for that.

The Quartermaster Nichols was almost overwhelmed by the hands pressing in from all about, holding out their small tankards for the first shot of rum. "All right, all right, you'll all get your tot!" he screamed. "All those starting the next watch get first tap!"

The first wave of crewmen drank down their short drink in one, and raced for their posts: at the rigging, at the cannons, atop the crow's nest, and below decks. The second lot came more slowly, savouring their drinks, and the Captain came last.

"Sorry, Cap'n," commented Nichols, as the barrel yielded its last few drops into Roberts' mug. "This is our last supply of rum till our next stop; might be a bit less smooth than ye're used to."

"Not a problem, Quartermaster," said Roberts, eyeing his mug with no little distaste, "I only drink this stuff for the look of the thing. You can have it; we're less than a day from Trelleborg anyway. I imagine the crew can go a day on this." Nonetheless, a look of concern passed briefly over his face. "How's our water situation, by the way?"

The Quartermaster looked uncomfortable. "Well, Cap'n, we should be fine until tomorrow, with any luck. But, on the other hand, we are halfway through the last barrel, so let's just hope the sun ain't too hot today, is all." Nichols' apprehension was not unfounded: a brief look of concern was the closest he had ever seen his Captain to all-out panic, and he had hoped never to spot that brief flicker of emotion again. And although it went unsaid, Nichols had a feeling that he crew would be getting pretty thirsty before long.

"Well, " commented Westley, glancing up at the blazing sun, "I think what we'll have to hope is that the wind matches the sun. With any luck, we could even reach Trelleborg by nightfall."

The Quartermaster's neck was already prickling with sweat; he gulped down the rum he had been offered thirstily, and swallowed it nervously. "Aye, Cap'n," he grinned, lifting his own tankard of precious water, "I'll drink to that."

Noon came too soon, as the ship sailed ever westward. The coasts of Sweden were a blurry horizon, seen through a heat haze, and already the crew had drunk another tankard of precious water each. Now the Dread Pirate Roberts wore his concerned expression openly, and Nichols had retreated below decks to avoid looking at such an omen of doom as the great Captain's slight frown.

"Westley, darling?" came a whisper to the Dread Pirate's ears, and he turned to see his beloved Buttercup standing next to him, a scarf tied about her head to keep off the heat, as Fezzik had advised her.

"Yes, my love?" he asked.

"I have a question, about – about pirates. I never did understand this term, but I was a great fan of piratical stories when I was younger, and I thought perhaps you could tell me?"

"I would tell you anything, love," replied Westley, shaking the sweat from his eyes. "And questions could be a distraction from this heat."

"Well, you always hear of pirates of old yelling for the crew to Splice the Mainbrace – what on earth does it mean?" Buttercup's beautiful face was creased in puzzlement and curiosity.

Westley's face darkened. "I hope you never have to hear that on board this ship, my love. I truly do."

Buttercup's eyes opened still wider. "Why?" she asked. "What does it mean?"

Westley took her hand, and led her to the prow of the ship. "Do you see that rope, my darling?"

Buttercup looked at the great black line that led from the prow to the sail, high above them. "That's a rope?" she asked incredulously. "I always thought it was a wooden pole!" And indeed, the black line before them seemed every bit as hard, straight and rigid as it would be if it were made of wood.

"Yes my love, it's a rope. As thick as a man's arm, and coated with tar for strength, but look closely and you'll see the rope twists in it."

Buttercup came closer, and gingerly reached out to touch it. "Ouch!" she gasped, clutching her hand: the tar on the rope had melted thickly in the intense heat, and her finger felt as though it were burned. She rubbed her hand desperately on her gown to scrape off the painfully hot tar, and blew hard on her fingers.

"Are you alright, darling?" gasped Westley. He had seen men burned by hot tar before; the burns were light and superficial, but they could hurt a lot – and for quite a while. Buttercup's eyes had tears in them, but curiosity got the better of her pain, and she merely nodded.

"Well," went on Westley, "that rope is a mainbrace, so called because it holds the sails braced against the wind. If it's damaged, and snaps, then the ship becomes almost impossible to turn until it's fixed."

Buttercup couldn't believe her ears. The thought of that great, thick rope, matted with tar for strength, extending fast and rigid against the prow without even a creak to betray the vast forces it was under, becoming even slightly damaged, was almost impossible to imagine. "So if it has to be spliced…?"

Westley's voice was grim. "Yes love, that means the rope has snapped and needs to be fixed."

"But what could possibly happen to break it?" Buttercup gasped.

"Well, normally only something like cannon fire can break it," replied Westley, as casually as he was able. "Which means that if the order is given to splice it, it normally happens in the middle of a fight with another ship. And having no turning ability when fighting another ship will normally get you killed. So splicing that, which is never an easy job anyway, is not an order most men would want to hear when fighting."

Buttercup nodded in understanding. "Then I hope we never do hear that order, as long as you're aboard."

With that, Westley could only smile. "Darling," he pointed out gently, "I'm the Dread Pirate Roberts! Most ships don't even have the courage to fire upon us, let alone aim for the mainbrace! I have neither heard nor given that order in all my years aboard ship, and I have no plans to give it now."

Buttercup cuddled close to him, heedless of her tarry hands dirtying his jacket. "Then I have no fear."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5.**

Westley's private concerns about the provisions proved correct later in the day. The winds dropped to a standstill, and the ship drifted ever slower Northward. The sun continued to blaze down upon the _Revenge_ and her unfortunate crew, and the men were none too pleased to learn of the drought.

"Come on, men, there's naught we can do but ration the water. We'll be in port soon enough, and a little thirst won't kill us, will it?" called the Quartermaster.

The men's muttering grew ever louder, until Captain Roberts stepped forward, resplendent in his best Captain's coat. "Come on, men!" he roared through a dry, parched throat. "We're all suffering, it's true, but we are the pirates of the _Revenge_! A day or two's thirst will hardly kill us – death is for lesser men!"

Inigo Montoya watched as the men, despite their thirst, cheered at the Captain's bold pronouncement, and began to take their turns gladly for their meagre rations. Westley was appealing to their pride, and it was working: the men he saw before him were proud to crew this fine ship, proud to serve under a pirate legend. He wondered how much was Westley's own doing, and how much the name of the Dread Pirate Roberts was doing for him. "Slippery like an eel, you are, my fine Man in Black," he mused, sipping at his own mug.

But jovial spirits only last so long, and a becalmed ship is a restless place at the best of times. By evening, the Captain had called his crew together, and informed them that the ship would be manned with a skeleton crew during daylight until they found port, allowing them to shorten watches from four hours to three, in hopes that this would allow the crew to conserve their energy, and avoid excessive thirst. This news was taken well, with the crew admiring their Captain's thinking, but the unavoidable truth was that the men were already starting to flag. Buttercup had barely left the Captain's cabin since her viewing of the mainbrace, and Fezzik was looking decidedly ill. Being bigger than most men, he naturally needed more water than the rest of the crew, but his honour prevented him accepting even one drop more than his share.

If the weather was as hot the next day as this one, it was an unspoken but widely acknowledged reality that the ship could wind up losing men. When the crew took to their hammocks that night, they were subdued and wary, and Inigo reflected that a mere two days more of this could turn a simple sea voyage into suicide.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6.**

The next day dawned as bright and hot as the one before, and the men started the day with their last ration of water, as well as breaking their fast on the juiciest fruits and crisp vegetables the Quartermaster could provide, in hopes that this day might provide enough wind to see them through.

But their hopes proved as empty as the last water barrel: the wind scarcely rose above a breeze, and the sails hung limply as the ship inched its way towards a too-far shore. By eleven o'clock, as the sun rose above the yardarm, two of the men, desperate with thirst, had attempted to drink from the rolling sea, had promptly fallen seriously ill and were consigned to their cabins.

The day looked bleak indeed, and there was not even a drop of rum left to cheer the men's spirits. The lookouts suffered worst of them all, being exposed to the sun more than the rest of the crew. Their throats were dry, and their voices hoarse.

A dry throat and a weak voice are great impediments to a lookout, so Westley decided to reduce each lookout's shift to two hours at a time, which eased the problems a little, though the fact remained that the crew could clearly not take another day of such conditions, no matter what their Captain did to help them.

However, Westley's decision proved a good one indeed, for even with the exceptions made for them, the lookouts had to try many times to even be heard by the crew below. And it was as the sun rose to its highest point that the weak, but determined cry, reached Westley's ears.

"_Ship ahoy!_ Ship off the port bow!"

Inigo wiped his sweating brow and saw his Captain rushing to his gunwale, taking his long brass telescope from inside his Captain's coat. Unfolding it, and putting it to his eye, Westley peered into the distance, straining his eyes for the telltale flag that would signify from whence this new source of hope came.

"What do you make of it, Gunner?" asked the Dread Pirate, handing the telescope to Inigo.

Inigo looked closely; his eyesight, honed to superior levels from his years of watching swords and duels, caught a flash of colour from the distant ship's mizzenmast. "It is flying the flag of Guilder, _Capitan_."

"Guilder?" said Westley in disbelief. "Guilder would never field a merchant ship on its own, without protection from the Navy. Certainly not at this time of year, when they know our ship sails these waters." Westley took back the telescope, and focused hard. "Yes, there it is!"

Inigo was bewildered. "There what is?"

Westley turned to smile at him, all concern gone from his face. "The prow of that ship is too long to belong to Guilder. Guilder would never build their ships to such a design, not with such rocky shores around the whole country. That ship looks more likely to be a French or Danish ship, more heavily armed than the equivalent from Guilder."

"And this is a good thing, _Capitan_?"

"Certainly it is. That ship is flying false colours, pretending to be merchants from Guilder. They are pirates no doubt, out for prey and keen to attack any vessel in distress. And if they are flying the Guilder flag, then the ships from Guilder are their intended targets."

Inigo remained puzzled. "How does that help us, then?"

Westley just smiled, and dropped his voice. "Watch and learn, Inigo." He raised his voice to shout as loud as his dry throat was able. "Bosun! Fly us the Guilder colours, and send a Guilder distress flare!"

A salute from the stern of the ship answered his words, and the ship was suddenly alive as every man felt the signs of approaching battle.

"Men!" called the Dread Pirate Roberts to his suddenly eager crew. "Our prayers have been answered. Soon we will be attacked by pirates, who no doubt have fresh provisions and good water."

The men gave a hearty cheer. They knew this tactic well, though they had never played it quite this way before. The _Revenge_ would fly the same colours as an approaching merchant ship, and pretend to be in distress. The merchant ship would turn to help, and the _Revenge_ would fly her true flag once the ship could not escape – and usually, no actual fighting was needed.

The flag alone, with its unique and distinctive design of a dove with crossed swords, had a reputation that demanded surrender.

This time was different, though. They were no longer tricking prey into considering them an ally. Instead, they were posing as easy prey for pirates like themselves: not asking for help, but inviting attack.

"All hands make ready to fight!" called Roberts. "Gunners, ready the guns to aim for the main sails!"

The ship was now a positive hive of activity. Swords were hurriedly sharpened and wiped, heavy iron cannonballs were hastily loaded into the guns, and Inigo found himself gasping with exertion as he rammed his cannonball into the muzzle, ready for his partner gunner to light the taper.

They crew worked feverishly: as in all cases where they flew false flags, they had to be ready to fight before their target could see them. If the ship saw them loading cannons, the whole charade would be blown. Inigo started as the bangs and whines of flares streaking into the sky went off behind him, and the sky filled with gold and green light as the flares exploded, gaining the attention of the pirate ship in the distance.

The ship had been drawing nearer at any rate; now Inigo could faintly see oars protruding from its hull. Unlike the _Revenge_, this ship had oarsmen, giving it a speed advantage on still days. And those oarsmen were quickly proving their worth: the ship was getting closer at a shocking rate. Inigo checked the aim of his cannon to fire at the enemy's main mast, then closed the flap over his gunwale, crouching down beside the cannon. To his left and right, the gunners all along the port side did likewise. Behind him, the sound of swords being cleaned told him exactly what the starboard gunners planned.

Inigo checked the blade of his own beautiful sword, confirming for his own peace of mind that it remained sharp as a razor. To his left, Fezzik was flexing his muscles, warming himself up ready for a fight. There was no point in Fezzik hiding; his great size made him hard to miss.

The Dread Pirate Roberts stood by his cabin, ready to call the order to fight when the pirates came close enough, and Inigo's skin crawled in anticipation of being able to use his formidable fencing skills once more.


End file.
